


The Lowblood Queen

by SeamstressShanked



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Empress Feferi Peixes (mentioned), Gen, death mention, lowblood revolution au, violence mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-19
Updated: 2014-04-19
Packaged: 2018-01-19 23:09:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1487536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeamstressShanked/pseuds/SeamstressShanked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But her, this Lowblood Queen as they call her, is not the pretty polished storybook fairy your Empress tries to be.  She is something older, the kind of creature from stories before they were committed to written words.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lowblood Queen

Her heels don't click like your Empress' do.  It's a solid sound, a heavy sound.  Gears thudding into places with each step, dust settling into the echoes.  There is no rush to her, only a steady purpose.    
  
The Empress' tread is quick and light, not quite hurried as she floats along.  She's all flowing hair and flowing gown, a fairy tale princess with the teeth of a shark.  But her, this Lowblood Queen as they call her, is not the pretty polished storybook fairy your Empress tries to be.  She is something older, the kind of creature from stories before they were committed to written words.    
  
She approaches you, and you look away.  Kneeling, chained to the floor, you've been stripped to nothing but the tattered, bloodstained remains of your pants.  But they haven't stripped you of your pride, so when she asks you your name (a formality, she knows who you are), you don't answer, acting as though she's not even there.    
  
This earns you a painful shock to the back of the neck from one of the guards, and it takes all your willpower not to scream.  Your Empress may think showing some vulnerability is best when dealing with the warmer end of the hemospectrum, but your Empress is also not currently a prisoner of war, beaten bloody by the poor lowbloods she seeks to protect.    
  
Their Queen seems unsurprised by your lack of response, or by how you writhe in pain at her feet.  Your muscles twitch and jump involuntarily as you try to catch your breath.  You find yourself staring at her shoes and thinking of how practical they are, how everything about her is, in a word, practical.    
  
Your Empress can work, run, and fight in all of her outfits and shoes, but you wouldn't call her style of dress practical, not like this troll's style is.  While you were contemplating her shoes, she'd knelt down to get a better look at you, startling you out of your thoughts with a hand on your face, tilting it up so she can look.    
  
Teeth snap as you make to bite her hand but miss, and she smoothly and calmly back hands you for the attempt.  Taking your face in a much firmer grip, her hand toughened from long days of hard work, she stares you down, and you finally meet her eye.  
  
A swirling mass of whispering voices rise up in your head, crashing like a tidal wave over your mind.  You're staring into the void, she's simultaneously pulling you under and keeping you afloat, and the voice of every young orphan you left screaming on the shore to die alone comes back to you ten fold.  You'd scream yourself if you could, but there's no sound left to you, only their voices.    
  
She knows, too.  She hears them and knows their stories, and knows that you are responsible for taking their guardians and ultimately their lives.  And you feel suddenly compelled to try to explain, to tell her you didn't know better, you didn't have a choice, if you didn't everyone would die.    
  
That you did it for her, your Empress, the only person who'd ever cared for you.  She'd needed you and you'd obliged.  Sure you went through a spiteful, hateful phase where you wanted to kill all landdwellers, but that was in the past, that was behind you, that wasn't who you were now.  You obediently followed your Empress' new laws, you restrained your violent nature and saved it only for absolute emergencies.    
  
The voices recede a little, and you release a breath you didn't realize you were holding.  She pets your sweaty cheek, your brow, brushing your hair back from your eyes (you liked her better at a distance, when your weak eyes only had a blurred impression of her).  As you gulp down great breaths of air, her hand brushes your crooked horn and you flinch, cursing yourself for letting her get you any sort of exposed.    
  
You're finally allowed to break eye contact, and you drop your head and gaze quickly.  She's still touching you, and you realize suddenly as the voices fade out, that you're whimpering like a grub and shivering.  You try to jerk away, but there's nowhere for you to go, and you find that you don't entirely want her to stop touching you.    
  
But she draws her hand back slowly, and stands.  No hurry, but not wasting energy or time in her movements.  She turns to her advisor, tells him they'll try again tomorrow, and she strides towards the door (her heels don't click like your Empress' do, and maybe that's better for everyone).    
  
Finding your voice at last, you shout at her back that you won't be cracked, you'll take your secrets to your grave.  She pauses, before turning slowly to face you once more (a creature from before the written word, ancient and infinitely patient).  "Oh darling.  We're going to take you and break you, until there is no other Queen left to you but me, and your mind will be laid bare.  Not even in death will you, or your secrets, be safe."  
  
The Lowblood Queen smiles a genuine, deeply unsettling smile before exiting, and the rest follow her through the door.  The lights go out, and you are left in the dark with the echo of her words and the ringing of dead voices in your ears. 


End file.
